You have to resist the little things that pain you
or worry you,
that tempt, and say,
You know you want to stress about this,
that there’s fear to be played out,
imagined,
(that is, to let your fear imagine what happens,
not you).
My stomach tightens at the thought of going out tonight (or any night). Even determining the time:
do you have a time you want to go?
6, I say.
How about 5:45?
That’s good.
Leave at 5:45? D breaks in.
Uh.
And then T:
Could we do 6:15?
Easier for M.
Well,
that’s that.
Little things. Stress. Choosing to go with it,
to try to find a place in me
perfectly willing to accept what’s settled,
even to be not only fine with it,
but good with it,
(on good terms,
ready,
content).
And so on.
Gray Haskins 